


Chewed Up and Spit Out

by bloodofpyke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-21
Updated: 2012-03-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 07:18:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodofpyke/pseuds/bloodofpyke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Stephie's <a href="http://mockyrfears.livejournal.com/2421.html">GOT Kink Meme</a> under the prompt <i>reunion/the first time they see each other</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Chewed Up and Spit Out

He wasn’t sleeping anymore. At first it was the surprise of a steady roof over his head, and the war, always the war, and he could hear the crash of swords even in his sleep. It was Arya next, Arya and the war tied up and mixed together, the look on her face when he knelt before the Brothers, the way she had shouted “Winterfell!” that night while Hot Pie struggled through shouting his own name.

He wasn’t sleeping, but he sure as hell was working; bending over the steel until his back felt past the point of fixing, gripping the hammer so tightly it felt fused to his hand. He was working when he heard the footsteps, light and quick, behind him, and he whirled, hammer still in hand, whirled around to the sight of Arya.

She was different; older, taller, but still _Arya_ , still all hard lines and sharp edges. And Gendry lowered the hammer, smiled, thinking that the war was finally over, when Arya came at him, swinging her sword, curses falling from her mouth.

“You _left_ ,” she was shouting, her face screwed up, “you were part of my _pack_ and you _left_. _Everyone_ left me, but you were part of my _pack_ , and you _left_.” Her sword was too big for her, and he backed away from its edge, hands raised, back scratching the trees behind him. And Arya stopped a minute, sword dangling from her hands, and glared at him.

And then she was dropping her sword and smashing into him, her body on his, her mouth on his, and Gendry didn’t know what the hell was going on. “Wha-” he tried to ask, but the word was gone with a bite of her teeth, swallowed up with her tongue dancing into his mouth, and stopped trying to ask questions, stopped trying to figure this out.

So he kissed her back, tangling a hand in her hair, sliding another underneath her shirt, thumb brushing against a nipple until she moaned into his mouth, and then she was moving, and he was moving, and the next thing he knew they were on the ground and Arya was tugging her clothes off, tugging his clothes off. And she was straddling him, hair swinging into his face, and she was leaning down and kissing him, but it was more of a bite than a kiss, and her teeth fell on his neck, on his shoulders, on his collarbone until he felt chewed up and spit out. She lowered onto him, and it was his turn to moan, and her hands made their way to his shoulders, to the grass behind his head, and her hips ground into his until it felt like they would soon be nothing but a pile of dust. 

And then it was over, and a cool breeze was dancing across his skin as Arya shimmied into her clothes, reached down and grabbed her sword. She paused a beat and looked at him, head cocked, knuckles white against the handle of her sword. “You were my _pack_ ,” she was whispering, and the words floated across to him, slapped him in the face, “and you _left_.”

And then she was gone.


End file.
